you CAN come home again

They say you can't go home again. And at least physically, that is not true.

Of course you can get in your car/plane/bus/tardis and travel back to where you grew up/where your family is/where you keep most of your stuff. But often times the place that you get to just isn't the same as you remember.  (that is what the saying means, of course, but, like my brother Ryan said last night "I'm just trying to break it down for you guys")

This always strikes me when I come home for winter break, especially this year.

My brother Daniel has taken over my room upon my absence. The only real change to the room is a lightsaber mounted on the wall and an x-box in the corner but it is enough to remind me that it's not my space anymore. 

And that makes me more than a little sad. And it reminds me that I have a future out there to be worrying about.
(but instead I ignore the scary thoughts about next year and the echos of concerned relatives "what are you going to do? what are you going to do? what are you gonna do?" and burrow myself into another knitting project)

The most radical change - the one that takes the most getting used to and always reminds me that I don't really live here anymore - is the refrigerator. 

this is not our fridge. this is a stranger's fridge, which is what I see every time I come home for the holidays

Every time I come home it's completely different, and it serves as a microcosm of the changes within my own house, my own family.  Sure, the cheese is still in the cheese drawer, the vegetables are still sitting (ignored and browning) in the vegetable "crisper" drawer, but the contents and configuration are constantly changing.

Sometimes completely new foods show up that I have never heard of or foods that should never have been bought (called over my shoulder: "Who eats blue cheese stuffed olives???" response from the living room: "Oh they're really good. Try one! Try- just try one. Just. Try it. Fine! Don't ever say I don't introduce you to new things").  Then again, there is still a bottle of sake in there that has been lurking at the back of the fridge for several years now. I'm not sure where we got it. Or why.  But it's still there.

I am almost always completely thrown off by the refrigerator.  I open it, seeking refuge for my gurgling hunger, and stop short as I glance around and remember I have no idea what is in there (or how long it's been in there).  It's just one more thing that's different. 
One more reminder that I don't live here anymore and I better get on with my life, because things are changing without me.

Wow. blogging therapy.

In the end, the refrigerator becomes normal again.
I learn not to eat that thing in the black tupperware that's been there since before I got home, that blue cheese stuffed olives are pretty delicious, after all, and that home will always be home. It's just waiting for me to normalize.

the shiny guy always worries

My neighbor across the hall is a very nice girl. I just learned that she is a psych major and so far enjoying her first year in college. That's about as much as I know about her. Oh, and the fact that she has THE CUTEST FOUR YR OLD BROTHER IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD.

"Oh no! A vampire!!" -Tristan

His name is Tristan, he has Spider-man Velcro shoes and a pretty cool umbrella: "not just any umbrella...it's a Spongebob one! It's yellow and everything!" And because my roommate and I are basically 10 years old when it comes to our interests (Star Wars, Harry Potter and superheroes), and Marca has decorated our bookshelf and TV stand with dozens of action figures, he seems to really enjoy visiting us.

On move-in weekend, while his parents were unpacking and his sister was organizing, he jet-packed over to our room and started play time.

Of course it didn't start so easy. He didn't just storm into our room demanding toys; he's too polite for that. He just leaned on our doorway for a few minutes, talking to Marca, Jenna and me about our rain boots. I could tell he was going stir crazy with the move-in effort and I wanted to offer him the chance to play with Boba Fett and Hagrid, but everything I said to him came out wrong: "Hey, do you want a cookie?" "We have toys!" and Jenna even asked "Where do you live?"

Some things you just can't say to a 4 yr old without sounding like a molester in an ice cream van.

After move-in day I thought surely I won't see him again until move-out. And I was sad. But today he came to visit his sister. And who's room did he come to first? The FUN room.

The best thing about these play dates is that he has no idea who any of the characters are that he is playing with. When he first saw Darth Vader (who protects our television), he swooped him down onto Remus Lupin and said "Oh no! A vampire!" I later found out from his mother that he has never seen or heard of Star Wars. Which seems like neglect, if you ask me.

qna

It worked!

What exactly is your job going to consist of? How do you like your eggs? If you could go anywhere in the world dressed like any animal, where/what would it be and why? -Jenna

wow. That is a actually quite a few questions. Which I deeply appreciate. You have accomplished this assignment beautifully, Jenna. I am going to respond to these one at a time, instead of all simultaneously (if you are wondering, THAT answer is "donknscsufinlhare." Which just doesn't make any sense).

• My job- well, isn't that a mystery. I will know more after our orientation tomorrow morning, but for now, my understanding is that I will be supervising small children skip through a cavalcade of glorified sprinklers known as a "splash park" at a city park, hopefully while wearing an important-looking t-shirt and sporting a whistle around my neck like all the pros do. And I will also get to sell concessions out of an air-conditioned hut and disappoint approximately 12 kids per hour with the response: "no, we don't sell Dip n' Dots anymore." Oh, and I get to run birthday parties!
  

• eggs. An important issue. I like my eggs scrambled, usually. My dad makes them with bacon pieces cooked inside sometimes. This is delicious. He originally called them boyscout eggs, because apparently when you're camping (like a boyscout) it's easiest just to cook everything together. Sometime between brownies and junior girl scouts I convinced him to change the name to "scout eggs" because it was a gender neutral term and therefor less sexist. Sexism and breakfast are not a good combo. Like Oreos and orange juice. Or country music and 80's-style workout montages. Just doesn't work.

• Final question! I would stay far away from Tokyo, I'll tell you that much. They have those weird furry fetishists... Hmm. I would disguise myself as a bear and hide by the Vienna sausages at the grocery store. And by hide, I mean just stand there. Can you imagine how many people I could save by scaring them away from such a hideous processed meat project? At least 8.

What Star Wars planet would you most want to live on? -Marca

• According to Tom Scott's Star Wars weather forecaster, it is currently "like Tatooine out there!" Big surprise. I would definitely not live on Tatooine. Two suns? REALLY, Tatooine? Also, I don't look very good in oatmeal/sand colors.
  

• I would live on Alderaan. I know what you're thinking "WHAT? That place BLEW UP!" I know. Hear me out. It was apparently very beautiful and peaceful when Leia lived there, you know, before it was blasted by the Death Star. They also had some spunk, rebelling against the Galactic Alliance. Plus, I would place a bunch of bets on how long the planet would last and then win all kinds of money because I would escape with all the rich people before the planet blows up and point and say "See? 5:00 on Wednesday. Cough it up." Then I would move to Naboo. But I would stay the eff away from the Gungans because they are all super annoying.
  

This was fun! More questions, please!